Seppuku
by a blue fruit cup
Summary: One's death is not easy to accept, much less your own. As a war wages on outside the girl acknowledges that her demise is the key to their survival. AU


**an: Please note this takes place in an AU version of the afterlife. Also, a big round of applause and a huge thanks to icyangel27. She helped me edit and revise this. :) EDIT: I have a tendency to come back and revise this from time to time. Most recent revision: Monday, Sep 30th, 2013. **

The room itself is bare, save for a few things.

The walls are peeling; the smell of lead is strong in the air. A fine layer of dust has settled across the edges of the floorboards. What was once beautiful tatami has been demoted to nothing more than chipped wood with bugs festering inside. There is nothing that does not reek of _old_ here. Not even the spiders in the high corners — them and their unfortunate prey have lingered there for centuries while a war wages on outside.

A grim reaper sits patiently on the ground amongst this. Her black hair, brushed, hangs freely to touch her shoulders. She's dressed neatly in a thin, white robe with bell-like sleeves and a pair of matching pants that have far too many creases and wrinkles in them. A large sash wraps around her waist and ties into a thin bow in the back. By no means is it meant to represent any particular human person or place—the reaper is aware that such a formality cannot be afforded at this point in time.

Instead, she focuses on the room and the objects around her.

To her right is a patch of parchment. The thin white surface has traces of yellow along the sides from a small bout of aging _(fitting, given the condition of the room)_. Sitting neatly across the top right edge of the paper is a fresh pen. To her left, accompanying both items, is a small knife and a dish full of peaches. The red and yellow fruits are fuzzy to the touch and look both delicious and ripe.

While on their own the objects have little to no meaning the reaper knows that combined they are parallel to a ritual used in both honor and punishment. The ritual, she knows, is that of a violent suicide and referred to formally as—

"_Seppuku._ When written it is called _Seppuku_. When spoken, it is known as '_harakiri_,' both, however, refer to the same thing: a suicide originating from older days in Japan," Momo Hinamori speaks quietlyand stares at the plate of peaches, "Back then samurais who had failed in battle, those who had brought shame upon themselves or their family, wives who sought a noble death when defeat was imminent, and servants who wished to follow their masters into the afterlife..."

Hinamori trails off. Her brown eyes squint and she picks up a peach. It's soft and she knows it's prime for eating.  
Near the top of the plate are the remains of a sword. The blade has been severed halfway down its length—it is nothing more than a simple "dagger" now.

Tobiume, as she named it long ago, is held up. Hinamori pauses to examine it. The reaper knows that typically the weapon should not be touched until later but the feeling of it's cold handle in her hands helps calm her nerves.

"...there are many reasons for someone to commit _harakiri._" She continues to talk, to ease her mind. "Honor was one, but it was not limited to that. _Harakiri_ was known to be carried out as a form of punishment. If a samurai committed a grave crime there were times he was sentenced to committing _harakiri_. The samurai would be forced into this act. But his sword would be taken away from him and replaced with a different object - one less lethal - such as a fan. In those cases—and many others, I might add, not necessarily ordained to capital punishment—assistants known as _kaishakunin_ who would decapitate the samurai. It was said that one who was chosen to be a _kaishakunin_ was bound for misfortune."

"You certainly know a lot about this, Hinamori," the new voice comes from a corner. Another reaper, tall in stature and dressed in black robes, greets Hinamori's eyes.

Hinamori smiles. "Reading about the _harakiri_ made me feel more prepared to do this, Rangiku."

The _kaishakunin_ is not a job that Hinamori Momo wishes upon anyone. The ginger nearby is someone she wants nothing but good to come to after all the trouble and trials that she has endured. Despite this, the reaper cannot help but admit there is a part of her inside that selfishly clings to this woman. Matsumoto is the only lifeline she has left; the others are dead or unaware of what she is doing.

If it means having someone be cursed with misfortune, Hinamori admits to herself that it is worth it in the end; _to her._

Hinamori does not accept this without acknowledging the fact that her friend is here not by order, but by free will. It's a painful ordeal for both of them and she does her best to show gratitude toward the other woman.

Hinamori smiles again, "Thank you for being here," she says, "you didn't have to, but you came. I mean it when I say thank you, a million times over."

"It's fine, Hinamori. I would never turn down a friend at a time like this," Matsumoto replies.

The ginger walks over to the girl. Hinamori watches her sit down in front and takes a moment to peer through the dim light at her friend. Matsumoto Rangiku is nothing short of a beautiful woman with exceptional curves and a large, wavy mane of orange-red hair on top of it. She's dressed formally for the occasion and a great long-sword is sheathed neatly at her waist.

The sound of war cries come in from the distance. It's a faint but constant buzz in the background: the losing battle of Good versus Evil. The war between the reapers and the demons has been pushed to the side for the past few hours but now returns in a wave that sends both reapers crashing into reality. The cruel war has brought them here; they know that this suicide will turn the tides and strengthen their small bands of fighters once it has been completed—it's only a matter_ of_ completing it.

Hinamori tries to avoid that thought; she looks back at Matsumoto—and smiles pleasantly at the other reaper, "Can I...?"

"Talk? Of course. The general said you had until sunset to do this, Hinamori. You don't have to rush; it's still daylight," Matsumoto says.

The friendliness in her voice and her soft tone is soothing to Hinamori's ears. Her shoulders slump in her seat and she gently sets the sword she's been holding down near the peaches.

"It makes it easier. Ha, did I say that before? I mean it. It's- It's reassuring. Comforting. Talking so casually like this reminds me of the days before the demons came. Back when all we had to do was reap souls and Shiro yelled at you for slacking off on your job," Hinamori laughs nervously.

Matusmoto frowns. "Don't think like that. Maybe one day those days will come again, Hinamori."

"That's not true."

"But one can still hope-!"

The conversation freezes as Hinamori's lets the next words slip out before she can catch them, "I'll be dead, Rangiku."

There's a pause. Matsumoto stares at Hinamori, pursing her lips.

"I know," Matsumoto says after the silence passes, "I know, Hinamori."

"I won't get to see the spring," Hinamori adds. The girls eyes widen and she gasps, clamping a hand over her mouth, "I'm sorry! I- I shouldn't be talking like this!"

Matsumoto pauses, "No- no- Hinamori, don't apologize. Go on. We're supposed to be talking, right?"

Gratefully, Hinamori lowers her hands.

She bites her lip nervously before a torrent of words rushes out with far more emotion then she had anticipated, "The thought that I won't be able to pick flowers again, or weave crowns with them... It terrifies me." she hiccups.

"I'm sure it does. Death is not an easy thing to accept." Matsumoto gently looks at her.

"You know, Rangiku, Kira always thought they were silly. Toshiro thought the same, too. And for- for once the two of them weren't at odds with each other! It was nice to see them getting along. I- I kind of wish I could have seen them both before this, you know?" Hinamori smiles to herself; it is bittersweet and painful. She looks down, "Even if it was to discuss pansies and daisies and daffodil flower crowns. I would give anything to have a conversation with the two of them."

Matsumoto tilts her head, "Hinamori, I- I'm sure that Kira would have loved to see you, but... Kira is... we both know that he's... and- well-!" she stops.

Hinamori pauses. "Toshiro can never know about this."

"Yes." Matsumoto agrees. The woman shifts uneasily in her seat.

"The trump card won't work if he knows I killed myself." Hinamori says.

Matsumoto's eyes grow wide. The reaper feels a heavy weight looming over her chest as she tries to come up with a response. In a manner of seconds the atmosphere in this room has changed, as has the topic.

Hinamori takes in a sharp breathe. "Let me think, Rangiku."

Hinamori cannot explain her sudden change of feelings. There are too many factors involved, too many variables to take into account: the war, the twisted web (that she _knows_ will be spun after her death), the hate that swells in her heart over the demons and the grief of lost friends, the casualties and the piles of bodies that will never be buried - but burned, and the responsibility and burden placed upon her shoulders-_  
_

She is furious. Like the flames of the spirit Tobiume sealed away in what was once her sword, the reaper is also enraged as to the way things have turned out.

"How will they touch my body? What do you think, Rangiku?" Hinamori does not mean for her words to be spat out so venomously, but there is no way to take them back after they have been said. "It will be graphic and violent, correct? They'll take my body and turn it into a tool; a tool used to achieve the right reaction from Toshiro. They will make sure my body is maimed, it is mutilated, it is violated, it is torn beyond repair, and it is still recognizable as the sweet, caring, innocent lieutenant of the Fifth- all for the sake of this _plan_!" The reaper shouts - it is the only way for her to release the sorrow and pain and anger that has been begun to boil over.

Matsumoto is silent as Hinamori goes on.

"I can imagine the report right now, Matsumoto: Hinamori Momo, Lieutenant of the Fifth Division of the Grim Reapers, was found dead at approximately eight this morning... According to the _lovely_ autopsy team, led by the _completely_ honest and trust-worthy Captain Unohana, Hinamori Momo was raped and tortured before dying of shock! There- I did it! I organized the story- Now you can go and sing it to the Captains once my body has been delivered!" Hinamori yells.

She is bitter. She does not deny that.

"How does that sound?" Hinamori asks the other reaper. Her brown eyes glare. "Dirty? Revolting? Does it make you ill? Does it remind you of the world we live in - of all its flaws, faults, and tragedies?"

Matsumoto doesn't respond.

"That's what they want, right? They want to remind you of how sick it is - stir up a bigger reaction," Hinamori grits her teeth, "they want to paint me as a helpless girl, a helpless, petite, fragile doll of a girl who was came to a gruesome end. All of this to turn Toshiro into your trump card. All of this to turn _him _into a tool."

It's quiet after that. Matsumoto is left staring down at the floor from where she sits, and Hinamori refuses to look at her. She does not want to confirm what she already knows - the truth. A part of her wants to throw up, nauseous at the thought of false reports coming in. They will spin her into a damsel in distress who was too weak to save herself. All of this to save the others. All of this for a plan that may not even work.

But it is also misdirected anger, degrading as it is. Hinamori sits and waits for her emotions to die down, for her to relax. The logical side of her mind repeats what she knows Matsumoto is unwilling to say, I_t is for the greater good. It is not for yourself. __It is for the others. _  


Hinamori sits there clenching her fists and tensing for a time.

"I'm sorry. That was wrong of me to say." she says once calm, "I know that_ they_ don't want to do this. And- even if they did, I'm not doing it for them. I'm..."

"Doing it for us?" Matsumoto finishes.

Hinamori nods.

The truth hurts. She understands that. It makes her violent and sad and horrified. She knows that the false tale of how she died will be wrong, yet that same tale is what may save everyone else in the end. Part of Hinamori accepts that, the other part goes back to pretending it is an okay scenario.

There is nothing else she can do.

"Can I ask you something?" Hinamori forces herself to speak and change the topic.

Matsumoto nods.

"What do you think will happen to me when I die?" Hinamori tilts her head and stares at her friend. It's not the topic she would have wanted, but it's _a _topic. Any topic to get rid of the tension is a topic she will take.

"I don't know. We were never taught what happens," the ginger woman admits. Matsumoto taps her chin, "We were only taught to assist those who were already deceased and to reap souls. We were taught about death but at the same time we avoided so much of it."

"I hope we reincarnate." Hinamori gradually falls back into discussion, "I want to come back as something—to live again," she pauses and thinks. "Maybe as an animal, or even a human... I hope that's what happens. I want to live. Not as a reaper but as someone on Earth. Someone alive; with blood pumping through my veins."

Matsumoto looks back to the black-haired reaper, "I'm sure you will, Hinamori. Death can't be it—not for us. We have to go somewhere, correct? If not Heaven, and if not Hell... we'll come back as humans for sure. I'm positive of it. You'll come back as a human, and you'll live again on Earth and attend school and go to parties and date boys and-!"

Hinamori laughs. It's short and sweet and the sound is eerie against the chill silence earlier. Not much time has passed—only fifteen minutes or so. The reaper pauses to muse over how long time ticks when one is faced with death.

_It's certainly slow,_ Hinamori settles on.

"I'll never date boys or girls or anyone for that matter," Hinamori states. "If I'm a human I'll be too busy studying to date. I'll be incredibly successful, Rangiku. I'll throw my life into becoming a person who can do things they enjoy- well, it's a thought I can dwell on for now." she smiles, "I hope I'll be a pretty human. Or a handsome human. Or both. Or maybe none at all; I don't know if I get a say on what gender I am. I could be any of them, or genderless — or maybe I'll go back and forth and..." she trails off. The girl pauses.

"Thank you for letting to me speak." Hinamori looks at Matsumoto, "It was painful, a lot of it. But it helped."

_I'm sorry I yelled. I'm a mess right now. Thanks for staying._ The unspoken message from Hinamori is quite clear.

Matsumoto curves her lips upwards in a soft smile. _It's okay. I understand. All of us are a mess right now._

"We still have plenty of time before the... you know. Do you want to talk about anything else? I wouldn't mind listening to you talk about being a human more." Matsumoto offers.

Hinamori shakes her head, smile still on her face, and stands up to stretch. Her legs are numb and it takes a moment for the blood to rush back to them. They tingle a little and she sways. Hinamori throws her arms out to catch her balance, then relaxes and stretches her legs and hands. The reaper cracks her knuckles and yawns before sitting back on the cushion below. She breathes out a sigh of content and fidgets a little to get comfortable while sitting on her knees.

"That's much better. Do you want to do the same? You have to stand in a moment, anyways," Hinamori states.

Matsumoto pauses. She opens her mouth to say something but closes it and shakes her head instead. Silently, the woman gets up and reenacts the routine Hinamori has just run through. Instead of sitting back down—however—the woman moves off to the side and returns to her place in the corner. Hinamori watches her linger there for a moment before her attention turns back to the objects on the ground near her.

The sound of war hums in the background. The objects, while thrown out of her mind during her heavy mood swings in the past discussions, now sit there and linger in her mind. They remind her that every minute spent talking is another minute spent fighting.

She names each of them.

Pen. Paper. Knife. Peaches. Tobiume.

"You said researching the... _Seppuku_ put you at ease, right? Could you explain a little more of it to me?" Matsumoto's voice rings out.

Hinamori closes her eyes. "_Harakiri_ is the spoken term for it, but yes, _Seppuku_."

It's a strange thought. Matsumoto had plenty of time to listen to her talk about it early in the day. Now she requests listening to it again? Hinamori takes a moment to go over her thoughts and carefully proceeds to conclusion.

"Are you stalling?" Hinamori asks.

"I don't want to say I am, but I have no liquor in me to lie today," Matsumoto replies. "Could you explain it? Before- before I—no, _we_ do this. Please give me the honor of learning a little about the history behind this practice before you die. I can pretend it puts me at ease then too."

Hinamori's lips turn upwards into a thin smile; while that quickly disappears her mind is at peace. Her friend is also nervous. She is not the only one dealing with a torrent of emotions.

"It originates from Earth's Japan. Originally it was part of the _Bushido_." Hinamori begins, "_Bushido_ is known by another phrase, the _"way of the warrior,"_ and it is said that samurais practiced its teachings. During older times _Bushido_ focused on several aspects: frugality; to be modest on one's wealth and resources. Loyalty; one's devotion to their country or a cause. Martial arts; samurai were trained in different forms. Last but not least; honor," Hinamori relaxes in her seat, "honor unto death."

"Is that where the _Seppuku_- err, the _harakiri_ comes from? Hinamori," Matsumoto says.

Hinamori nods in response. "I spoke of it before to you. There were many reasons for a person to commit _harakiri_— but that was not the only way to die. There were other methods of death used to, say, protest the actions of a master. In that case a servant would fatally wound himself by making a horizontal slice to the abdomen, then he would bandage the wound, and protest to his master in front of a large audience before revealing the wound to the audience. It was called _kanshi,_ I believe."

"More of them?" Matsumoto asks.

Hinamori purses her lips. "Many different ways to die have been recorded, Matsumoto. The living are as bad as the dead in that matter. A variation of _kanshi_ known as _funshi_ is known. But unlike the _kanshi_ the death was to protest a state matter as opposed to the decision of a master." she speaks slowly.

She watches her ginger companion process the information, "I see."

For a reason that slips her mind, Hinamori is strangely calm now; perhaps it is mental exhaustion setting in from trying to deal with these feelings.

"In addition to this," Hinamori comments, "A female form of death has been written into the _Bushido_: _Jigai._ It was taught to girls at a young age. The woman would bind her legs so that when she died she would retain her dignity. She would use a blade to cut her neck and subsequently her arteries. _Jigai_ was taught in the case that a battle was lost and defeat was inevitable."

"Hinamori."

"Yes, Rangiku?"Hinamori feels the ginger-haired woman stare at her from the corner.

"May I ask you... why this? Why _harakiri?_ You were given the choice to die in any way you saw fit. You could have hung yourself, or leaped to your death, or been injected with a drug to make it quick and painless. Why did you choose this?" Matsumoto inquires.

"_Harakiri_ is- it is a strange and graphic way to die. I know it isn't painless. '_Harakiri'_ itself means '_cutting the belly,'_ and based off records of it the pain is to be beyond agonizing," Hinamori admits. "But one of the reasons samurais committed _harakiri_ was for dishonor, correct? They could redeem part of themselves through this act. To me, I didn't want to run and be slaughtered by a demon, or feel the air on my body when I jumped, or submerged myself under ice until I froze to death. I wanted to die in a way because..."

Matsumoto pauses, "Hinamori?"

"Because I feel like it will let me forgive myself." Hinamori finishes. "I've messed up so many times in the past, Rangiku. My mistakes and poor judgement have caused _deaths_ in the Fifth Division. I hate part of myself for that. But I can't help thinking that by doing _this _I might find some form of forgiveness in myself."

"Hinamori..." Matsumoto trails off.

Hinamori shakes her head; she takes in a deep breath and smiles, "It's the first thing I've been able to decide for myself in a long time. I- I actually forgot what having choices was like. Everything is decided for us, hasn't it? When we fight, what we eat, how we live... the war took away our free spirits, our free will. This was the first chance I've had in many years to choose for myself. And... it may be the last, yes, but it will still be my choice in the end."

It's quiet again. Matsumoto's hands drift toward her sword. Hinamori looks up and over at the other reaper, taking in her nervous stature and the way her hands shake a little.

"It's kind of ironic, in a sad way. Earlier you were the one trying to calm me down, right? Now look at us. Two reapers in a room trying to grasp this thing called death," Hinamori comments.

The reaper focuses back on the objects around her. Hinamori's eyes narrow and her mind focuses on them. Too much time has passed. "I can't stall forever, Rangiku."

Matsumoto doesn't respond.

Hinamori sighs. "Rangiku. I can't keep stalling—I'm sorry, but whether or not you choose to participate doesn't change the fact that I will kill myself. It will just- it will take longer if you choose not to."

With no reply, Hinamori keeps talking, "I'll tell you something, Rangiku. If I could have it my way I would rather die at the hands of your blade than to wait until I bleed to death."

Silence.

"...Rangiku," Hinamori says, "I can't stall any longer. I am going to begin."

"Wait," Matsumoto replies. Hinamori looks back up at the ginger woman.

In comparison to before Matsumoto is still standing there, idle, but the woman looks much more prepared. Hinamori can spy a dark, grim look etched across her face—from the way her lips curl into a frown to the way her eyes have no twinkle. Matsumoto is serious this time.

"I came here to do something, Hinamori. I came here to assist you in your- your death. I'm not going to back out of that now. Not after everything that's passed between us. Tell me what to do and I'll do it," Matsumoto says.

Hinamori smiles. The black-haired reaper gestures, "The _kaishakunin_ stays to the left of the person committing _harakiri_. You are welcome to sit or stand as you please. There are different gestures for each that must be followed."

Matsumoto moves to Hinamori's left side and stands there. She stands upright, and her body is visibly tense.  
"Like this?" she asks.

Hinamori nods, "That's good. When I begin I want you to take out your sword— Haineko, wasn't it? –and wait until it's your cue to move."

"Anything else?" Matsumoto asks.

Hinamori pauses and thinks, "There are cases where the assistant would behead the samurai before the latter made the first cut. For this I want you to wait. I am going to slice my abdomen open starting from the left. After I finish the first cut, I am going to return Tobiume's blade to where I began. That's your cue," she bites on her lip, "I hope that makes sense. This was much easier to explain in my head."

"I think I understand. Hinamori. I'll wait until you have... err..." Matsumoto trails off. The reaper cringes. "No need for words. I understand what you mean."

Hinamori nods. "Thank you. Once the time comes, there are a number of ways to hold your sword and position yourself. No matter what you choose to do, please keep eye contact with me during this time. It's traditional."

"Stand and keep eye contact. Got it."

"One last thing," Hinamori adds after a moment. "When you kill me, Rangiku, be careful with your strike. I know you practiced a little bit this morning, when I first asked you to fill the role of my _kaishaku_ but please be careful. My head is not supposed to fly off. You need to be careful with your strike so that my head is not completely severed."

Hinamori can hear the cries of others in the distance; they are much louder than before. Somewhere, outside this room and this tower, there is a war going on. A war that, after this, can hopefully be turned in the favor of Good. With a solemn sigh Hinamori relaxes her body and stares forward at the plate of peaches sitting nearby.

"I am going to begin now. From here on out... please stay quiet," the young reaper says.

Hinamori begins the act of _Seppuku_ by picking up the peaches. The red-and-yellow fruits have a fuzzy edging along the sides—she uses the knife on the plate to skin them and cut them up. It isn't very hard to pull them apart after that; Hinamori eagerly bites into them. Not only are they incredibly sweet, but they are also soft and chewy. They fill her with warm, faint memories of a time when demons weren't hunting them and children could play outside without fear. Shiro—no, _Toshiro,_ she reminds herself—and her always were the best at finding peach trees. The reaper smiles as she recalls the two of them squabbling and trying to climb up to get the ripest of peaches. Those were old days, ones that will never return.

It takes Hinamori a few minutes to eat. The reaper indulges herself in these old thoughts; they bring forth a new sense of comfort and a bittersweet tingle that bites at the back of her mind.

The young reaper is reminded once again why she is doing this. Her death will help clear the way for peace and bring new days where children can go back to picking peaches and playing together. Hinamori breathes out sharply, and looks over to the pen and paper sitting nearby. She reaches for the pen, picks it up, and grasps it.

The parchment stares at her. Hinamori stares back. She begins to write a few words. It does not come quickly to her but she chooses not to focus on the time. The haiku has a pattern of five-seven-five-seven-seven syllable sentences; it is a specific _"tanka"_ form she has chosen ahead of time.

Hinamori smiles and purses her lips as she stares at it:

_'Thinking of winter_

_I am reminded of us_

_Our bond looks steady_

_But the truth is not the same_

_Cracking ice, the coming spring'_

It is not a perfect poem. Hinamori's smile fades and she stares at the paper. It is flimsy at best, and it is one she knows can never be delivered to the young man it was intended for. It is a representation of her thoughts on life, on Toshiro, and on their relationship: a relationship that, by all means, looked intact to everyone else yet was full of its own lies and twists beneath the surface. A new side to it was coming, just as the spring comes to winter.

Hinamori bites her lip. She can feel herself grow sad as her thoughts drift away to Toshiro Hitsugaya, her childhood friend, and the truth that he will never learn. The reaper relinquishes her pen; she sets it down to the side of the paper and nudges it away before her feelings get the better of her.

With a bolt of shock she freezes and looks down at her half-sword, Tobiume. Her thoughts vanish. This is it. This is where the pain begins.

Hinamori loosens her robes. The sash that had been tied them all together and kept her top half secured falls to the ground. She pushes the robes open. The light hits her pasty skin and she feels the cold air push against her bare chest. For a moment she relaxes as blurred memories of snowball fights and winter afternoons surface.

No. No, no more distractions. Hinamori reaches for Tobiume.

She can feel Matsumoto tense nearby—and from the corner of her eye she spies the ginger upright, legs apart, sword drawn and held up high in the air. It is not time to strike yet but the woman is ready.

Hinamori resumes the Seppuku, and she holds Tobiume firmly in both hands. She turns the broken blade to point at her and stares at it. The cold steel waits patiently.

The reaper grits her teeth and plunges the sword into the left side of her abdomen. Blood spurts out. Her white robes are slowly dyed red as she grits her teeth. The pain is horrendous—hot, burning skewers melting her insides. Hinamori allows herself a small hiss of pain before she shuts up. She forces herself to keep a grip and the girl pulls the blade from left to right. She feels its sharp edges digging deeper but no more cries emerge from her throat. The only sign of distress comes from her eyes watering—something that never progresses to tears.

Hinamori stops there. The blade of Tobiume is lodged in her side for a moment before the girl pulls it out and  
positions it back where she first made the incision. The reaper can feel her own, warm blood flowing from her body. Strangely, she doesn't feel warm. She feels cold. Freezing.

From nearby Hinamori sees Matsumoto move. The flash of Haineko is seen once as the light reflects off the metal blade.

Hinamori watches the other reaper hold the sword still for a moment. She sees the woman look painfully guilty.

"Promise me," Hinamori breaks the tradition of silence for one last, fleeting request. "one thing, Rangiku."

The other reaper hesitates. "Hinamori?"

"When spring comes, you'll make the crowns for me. For Toshiro. For the others."

Matsumoto bites her lip; the orange-haired woman nods and her eyes water, "I promise."

Then the sword swings down and Hinamori is left in a void of black.

* * *

"...Hinamori..." Matsumoto says quietly.

She shakes the blood off of her sword and sheathes without another word. The woman kneels next to her friends body for a few minutes out of respect.

After a short time Matsumoto moves back, away from the corpse. She bows and straightens up. This _Seppuku_ was not carried out perfectly, but it was according to Hinamori's wishes. The ginger reminds herself that over and over as she stares at the other reaper's body: slumped, blood still pouring out from the cut in her abdomen, and with her head almost entirely removed.

Matsumoto's lips curl downwards and a frown emerges; she looks away. Hinamori Momo is dead. Hinamori Momo killed herself. Hinamori Momo is not coming back. There is only one thing left to do.

Matsumoto walks over past the body, and to the door. She pries it open and steps out, shutting the door behind her.

Two guards, both clad in black robes and well-armed, are standing there. Matsumoto glances at both them with empty, dead eyes. She looks from one to the other.

"It's done. Go inform the General of Lieutenant Hinamori Momo's death," the ginger says.

"And what about you?" One of the guards inquires.

"...I will take care of the body," Matsumoto replies. "It must be delivered to Unohana to properly be disposed of."

Silence.

"You should hurry. The General must be told as soon as possible so that he and the Captains are able to move forward with the plan," Matsumoto states.

The female reaper turns back to the room, to the body, to the eaten peaches, and to the blood-soaked paper that holds a poem no one will ever read. She stops halfway and her gray eyes glance back at the guards—one who has begun the trek down the tower, and the other who is watching her.

"What went on in there?" The guard asks.

Matsumoto pauses.

She considers telling him, for a moment, but her integrity is buried under a pile of lies. The trump card will never work if the truth gets out.

"You'll find out in the reports." Matsumoto says curtly.

She disappears behind the door. There is a body to attend to.


End file.
